


the Doctor, in the broom cupboard, with the mop bucket

by Star_less



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Desperation, Donna and the Doctor already travel together, Episode: s04e01 Partners in Crime, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Omorashi, One Shot, The Doctor (Doctor Who) Whump, dead dove do not eat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22836952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: The Doctor and Donna separately investigate Adipose Industries - Donna from the office (and briefly the loo) and the Doctor from a grotty cleaning cupboard. Which would be fantastic had the Doctor not got himself in a spot of trouble.“Oh,” said Donna, staring at the bucket— and it wasn’t a good ‘oh’, it was an ‘oh’ of realisation. The Doctor tucked a little tighter into himself to self soothe. “Oh, Spaceman, youdidn’t!”“I couldn’t help it,” he whined slightly, wrinkling his nose. “I was stuck in here all day.”
Relationships: Tenth Doctor & Donna Noble
Comments: 17
Kudos: 26





	the Doctor, in the broom cupboard, with the mop bucket

**Author's Note:**

> TEN: (to me) why are you doing this to Me what about my other twelve incarnations give me a BREAK
> 
> ME: shut up and drink your banana milkshake there’s a good boy. etc etc.  
> ~
> 
> (this contains omorashi/piss/peeing in things that aren’t toilets so if that doesn’t rustle your jimmies please slide on by)

Reaching a hand into his pocket, he unceremoniously dumped its contents out onto the floor in front of him. 

A yo-yo. Some playing cards, some boiled sweets still in their twisted wrappers (strawberry flavoured) keeping the company of a conker on a string, a toy car, a cricket ball all red and worn out, and a still-ripe banana.

Anything to stop his bladder from pawing and pleading at him while he was stuck here was a blessing -- and anything that kept him still enough to stop involuntarily jolting his bladder just as it seemed to calm would have been heaven sent in itself.  
Hesitant, he unwrapped a few boiled sweets and sucked at them and chose the toy car, idly pushing it across the knobbly road that was his knees and legs. Cars. Great inventions, cars, although nowhere near as great as the TARDIS, of course...  
He was with Donna, in London, present day. Boring on paper, but she had insisted there was something going on. Pills, she said, slimming pills, friend of a friend had taken them and no one had heard from her since. Maybe, shrugged the Doctor, she had gotten gorgeously skinny and jetted off to Malia to show herself off, or something. No, Donna insisted, she had gone, disappeared, feared dead. So he had, slightly grudgingly, taken them both off to Adipose Industries to get some intel. Donna had a work placement there, she said, so he had let her get her intel upfront in the office. He had taken the backwards approach and settled himself down in a broom cupboard.  
(Offices weren't quite his forte.)  
It was going well. Or at least it had been going well. The first day, he had made great progress - confirmed Donna's suspicions at the very least, and arrived at the conclusion that Foster was some sort of alien. The Slitheen again, maybe. Except he had found a hidden panel in the cupboard, that pulled away to reveal some sort of console. All offline, and what the Slitheen were doing with a dead console was beyond him. Now, he had settled into his second day and it... well, it was going a bit wrong. He had this great plan to work out what the console was for, but... he sort of needed the loo. The need had reared its head days ago and he had put it off, but now it was pressing and urgent, stanmping in time with the beat of his two hearts and, if he was being honest with himself, he regretted putting it off. 

Especially since he was stuck in this postage stamp of a cupboard with nothing else but a mop, a trashcan and a mop bucket for company. 

Shifting and pocketing his knick-knacks, the Doctor sonic'ed away the furthermost panel to get another close look at this alien console. Distraction was key.  
~

'Distraction was key' lasted a grand total of fifteen minutes. He liked it at first, when he could zone out nicely and the throb-pulse-push in his midsection died out a bit in favour of thinking it over, throwing theories around his head - but then it came back and it came back with a vengeance. First he was bouncing. He bounced a lot in this incarnation, having plenty of extra energy to burn off. Usually he satiated that little need by running but, well, there was only so much running he could do in a room that certainly wasn't bigger on the inside, and so he bounced.  
...Which worked until it woke his bladder up a bit more and sent all these ticklish volts forward, these ticklish volts that weren't quite put off by his frantic bouncing--ffffuckdidhehavetopee--and the bouncing stilled. He gnawed at his lip. He stared at the console even though now, distracted, he was paying no attention.  
And then his mobile phone rang.  
His mobile phone rang; vibrating in his pocket so hard it made him jump and he had to press his legs together as something hot sprinkled his boxers. He tried not to think about what it was. Donna. At least she was distraction in another form. "What?" he asked, tight, trying to stop a spurt from dragging its way down his leg. A little, 'mmnf' made its way up from the back of his throat in the effort of it.

"Rude." Donna responded. She sounded like she was talking through a mouthful of sand. "Hello, Donna, would be nice."

The Doctor sighed, his voice fraying, all impatient and urgent. He felt like he wasn't able to keep his voice on its usual chirped even keel but all the same hoped Donna didn't notice. He rolled his eyes, sliding down against the wall. "Yes, hello, what is it? Where are you?"  
He almost wasn't listening, his gaze drifting the room and settling, blatant, on the mop bucket. It was right there... He could use it. Not-- not while Donna was on the phone with him. Not if she could hear how desperate he was. The thought was enough to pull colour to his cheeks. 

"I'm eating my lunch." No wonder she sounded like her mouth was full. "In the loo. I can't believe you're making me eat my lunch in the loo, this isn't very time travel, is it?" she pouted. 

At the mention of the loo, the Doctor's eyes closed in discomfort. His free hand tapped at his thighs and his bladder throbbed uncomfortably, more than aware that he should have been there too. More than aware that there was a perfectly decent receptacle just a matter of feet away from him that he could use. "Well you were the one who said stuff was going on here," he pointed out a tad grumpier than usual. "But if she sees you then that's..." he gestured, eyes widening, even if she couldn't see him. "The whole thing, kaput."

She sighed, and then gasped quick. "Okay, okay, someone's coming in. I think it's Foster. I have to go, bye!"

Alone again, his distraction gone, his bladder distended and full-force pulsing, the Doctor let out an uncomfortable groan. He reached into his pocket with one hand and took out the banana, unsteadily peeling it. The other hand massaged the swollen, hot line where his bladder rested, hissing in discomfort.  
~

Lunch was uncomfortable. His throat was dry and his leg was bouncing constantly, the itching nag continuous in his lower half and not comforted even when he squirmed. His eyes drifted to the mop bucket again. It was decently sized. He could fill it comfortably, said the demon sat on his shoulders. It would stop the nagging pulsing in an instant and he could go back to the more important task at hand. On the other hand, responded the angel on his other shoulder, giving in to his relief like that seemed so shameful. He thought of Donna, if by some fluke she walked in and caught him in his most vulnerable of moments, of the murmured gasp she’d give him and how he would gabble and messily tuck in and stammer that _it- it wasn’t what it looked like and he could have waited and he never usually had to do this._  
This sort of behaviour was... was beneath him.  
Was beneath the Time Lord. He should have been able to hold himself and wait until what was done, was done. Swallowing hard, he ripped his gaze away. No.  
No, he couldn't. He would wait.  
He licked his lips and kneeled this time, Sonic between his teeth as he peered into the console with faux interest.  
...The Time Lord drew himself to his knees, peering with the Sonic at the console and tentatively pulling a few levers. His midriff certainly did not appreciate this shift in position, a new tugging sensation beginning. “Oohff-!” His eyes blew wide open and he huffed out a breath between his teeth. Pressing himself tighter together, the Doctor pulled and pressed buttons quicker, desperate to see any sort of activity. He had never seen anything like this before in all his 900 years. He was dumbfounded. No matter how much he sonic’ed at wires and pushed buttons, the console did sweet nothing. He blew out a breath through gritted teeth and thumped a fist onto the console in frustration. Somewhere in the back of his brain he heard that teasing little voice that said he would have this all solved in seconds if he could only piss first, and so he clenched his fist and thumped the console with his other hand as if to say no, I’ll be fine—a poor decision, he realised, when a gush spluttered free before he could even stop it. “Sh—hngh!” The Time Lord squeezed his eyes tight, bearing down on his muscles to cut it off. He blew out a breath and his middle shuddered. Slowly, he settled with his hands in his lap. He couldn’t work anything out in this state. 

He rocked forward. He rocked back. Forward and then back again. He needed to _go_. His eyes went all around the room trying to rest anywhere but the mop bucket. _Do it,_ he pleaded himself if his gaze rested there even for a second, _do it, do it, do it._  
He rocked forward again, teeth clamped to his lips, the pressure getting harder to contain. _No,_ he begged, no he _couldn’t_ do it. Oh but he needed to, he needed to so badly. His muscles twitched and trembled and twisted under the ocean low in his belly. No one was _here_ , he rationalised. No one was going to see. No one was going to _know_.  
Another little drip came out. He whimpered, and licked his lips, and the drip turned into a heavier dribble without him stopping it.  
His eyes were trained on the mop bucket in the corner by now. Well, it was bright blue, he couldn’t exactly _not_ notice it, was his excuse... but it was patently more than that. He rocked forward and then back on his knees in anticipation of what he knew he was going to do, and shivered. His bladder gave a shove, impatient, and this sent him fumbling with sweaty fingers to find the fastening of his trousers. It was _there, right there,_ looking as good as a toilet as far as he was concerned—and it was either this or soak his trousers _and_ go through the humiliation of telling Donna afterwards what had happened. "Doctor!" he imagined her gasping, swinging the door open to see him mid... mid... _well, you get the idea_... her face etched out in pure horror; him unable to stop, stuttering, the warm wetness crawling across his inner thighs until the creases of his trousers glistened. She would never treat him the same afterwards. She would be embarrassed to look at him, her Spaceman, doing something so... human. Using the bucket was a dream in comparison. Still shameful, but not so much.  
...Besides, it was a mop bucket. It had seen worse.

Rolling forward, close now, he eased himself free from his trousers. His tongue poked out, anticipating, just-so from between his teeth. The first jet came free before he could control himself, skimming over the top and spluttering thick droplets down the sides instead.  
“Nngk!” The Doctor breathed in. Sharp. Surprise and bliss in one. What was he doing?  
Shifting again—sighing, shaky—he aimed directly into the bucket this time. His stream was immediate and quick, ringing hard against the plastic—and the relief came quicker, electric, low down and then all over his body. Sort of like, the Time Lord thought, unearthing his brain beneath the cloud of relief cannon-balling into him, being Deleted by a Cyberman - if you took out the ‘agonising pain’ part. It was quick and then slow, spreading all over and then... gone, until the next roll came. Eyes lidded, he watched his stream gush forth— foaming white with the force of it; Hell, he was pissing for at least one lifetime—and mumbled in absolute bliss, low hums and mutters and ’ngh’s and all sorts of spat out noises he hadn’t really ever heard himself say before that made just a tinge of colour rush to his cheeks. He tipped back slightly and melted, all velveteen and pliable.  
Perhaps it was the fact that he was so secluded, so very alone, that he threw himself into really enjoying it. He thought of Donna, thought of what she would say if she saw him like this - heard him like this - and knew he would be much more restrained, holding back the moans that now came free. As his stream began to twist into something lighter he shifted again, watching it spurt and spit, eyes wide. The noise had changed too - once something deafening bouncing around the room it had transformed into a ringing whisper. The throbbing rhythm of his bladder dulled as he emptied and he knew he was reaching the last of his stream.  
…Finally, with a last hard gush, the stream died off. The Doctor’s eyes lingered, dreamy-feeling on the modestly filled bucket. Then he exhaled in one hard, long, pant. Hell. Hell, he was sure he hadn’t pissed as hard as that in any of his prior regenerations.  
His once swollen stomach was soft now, soft and empty, and wasn’t pressing against the waistband of his trousers. He ran a hand over the area, protective and almost apologetic, before shaking and tucking himself back into his trousers. 

The cloud of relief at the forefront of his brain had parted somewhat by that point, and the mortification of what he had done was now brewing fully, bringing flushed colour to his cheeks as he looked at his mess and, rather like a child, began to back away from it. He was flush against the wall, curled in comfortably on himself, when the doorknob jiggled in a curious sounding way. His head snapped up before he could even think of speaking. 

“Doctor, are you in here? It’s me!”

Donna’s voice, close to the door. The Doctor’s gaze fell everywhere, taking in the bucket that he had defiled once more, and wondered quite how he would explain it. Should he open the door - or shut her down? Voice cracking as he tried desperately to think of an excuse, he threw himself to the door and cranked it open a couple of inches, so that she wouldn’t see. “Hi!” He cracked his trademark _everything-is-fine_ sort of smile from where he was puddled down on the floor. 

“This is where you’ve been hiding, Spaceman? Not too glam, is it?” Donna touched the door slightly, but he put his foot out to stop her from pushing it open further. "Mind you, hiding in the loo wasn't one of my best ideas. Then again, Foster came in and I managed to find something out. She took that journalist—did you see that journalist? Asking all the questions?— I thought she was coming for me but she took her. And lucky for us,” she shrugged, “Foster can’t keep her mouth shut. I was right, they aren’t slimming pills - and then she said she was going to tell all. I was there with my ear to the cubicle and _then_ —“ she threw her hands up, “—she only went and blooming took her off somewhere, didn’t she?! I went all over looking for her and then I figured, aliens, you, you, aliens so I went looking for you and all along you were hiding in a _cupboard_?”

“Life of a time traveller, Donna,” the Time Lord quipped with a slight whine, it being the only thing he had paid attention to, “Not always glam.”

“Alright, well, come on!” She pushed at the door again. “Want some glam. Let’s go snooping. She’s bound to be here somewhere.” She grinned, delighted at the prospect, urging him free. 

“Donna— don’t—no-!” He winced, clawing ineffectually, clawing at air as he tried and failed to stop her from swinging the door open wide. The defiled mop bucket was there, in full sight. Why did it have to be bright blue? Who decided the universal colour of mop buckets was bright bloody blue?! It was almost impossible not to stare at it. Then he kicked himself, because all of his protesting likely made him seem more suspicious…

“Oh,” said Donna, and it wasn’t a good ‘oh’, it was an ‘oh’ of realisation. The Doctor wasn’t sure if he was imagining the note of disgust underneath it or not. He tucked a little tighter into himself to self soothe. “Oh, Spaceman, you _didn’t_!”

“I couldn’t help it,” he whined slightly, wrinkling his nose. “I was stuck in here all day.”

Donna was laughing now. “I didn’t even know you did,” a shrug, a gesture to the filled bucket, “ _that_.”

“I’m a Time Lord, not a blimming Slitheen!” The Doctor whined.  
‘a what?’ was Donna’s cheerfully confused response. He shook his head. “Never mind. Point is…” Squint. Unsure little nod. “…yeah. Sorry.” Oh, he wished she wouldn’t laugh, even if this entire situation was novel to her.

Donna sensed she had upset him; her eyes crinkled. “It’s normal,” she shrugged, her voice suddenly peaked with sympathetic softness. “Sorry, I just thought... well, you’re a _Time Lord_!” she gave him a sheepish smile. They hadn’t travelled together for long, she hadn’t ironed out any of his wrinkles other than he being a time travelling alien. It _was_ novel for her somehow. Not that she really cared. 

“I’m a Time Lord.” He nodded, understanding, but was subdued and flushed an uncomfortable shade of red. He should have waited. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Donna frowned, touching his arm. “What are you apologising for, you big space dumbo? I don’t have to clean it up, do I?” A big affectionate smile; big enough and affectionate enough for the Doctor to finally give her a smile too.  
“Come on, let’s go!” Glad, the Time Lord rose to his feet. Donna beamed up at him. “What first?”

“When I wasn’t...” he trailed off, embarrassed, carding his fingers through his hair. “... _distracted_ I found a console behind one of the wall panels in the cupboard. No idea what it’s for. But, someone’s been sneaky. And we, Miss Noble, need to find her.”  
The Doctor grinned. “Run!” He said, for no good reason other than he needed a good run after being so cooped up, even if there were no monsters on the hunt. His newest companion scoffed in disbelief, (‘you’re unbelievable!’ she spluttered) but raced after him the second he started to pick up the pace.

**Author's Note:**

> when I watched this episode at the grand old age of eight I LOVED it. I was, you know, very ~concerned~ that the Doctor was locking himself in a cupboard for two whole days. And, when he comes out of the cupboard on the second day he sort of does this little shiver (seriously he does go watch)—I’m assuming because he was cramped up in there all day, right?—but as a kid I was ADAMANT that it was pee related. 😂 I was fassssscinated. 
> 
> So here you go. This is the result of that. Sort of. Twenty year old me just needed the Doctor to piss in something, I’m sorry. It’s not my best i was just, you know, desperate. :D 
> 
> (...I was tempted to write this up too but I think the shame would devour me whole: As a kid I loved that Donna asked to pee in this episode too, really early on when she was investigating that woman, to try and get into the bathroom and make sure she’s okay? Well as a kid I used to reenact this episode during playtime except Donna did have to pee but never had a chance... and then really unrealistically holds it in until the next day... and the Doctor is in the cupboard all day so he also needs to drain the tank. They meet with one another and are like ‘ahh, yay!’ but hug for like 0.3 seconds before being like ‘...I really have to pee’ and then foster (me obviously) finds them and ties them up and is like, ‘hahaha I don’t think so’.  
> Sorry. I just needed to get that out. Moral of the story: don’t say anything bad to me cos I’ll tie you up)
> 
> I’m joking ily if you liked this please comment/kudos x


End file.
